Moments in Time
by PythonFan
Summary: My unofficial attempt at LiveJournal's Ultimate FanFic Challenge. 100 prompts and 100 fanfics featuring the JoshDonna pairing. Prompts 4 and 5 now up.
1. Beginnings

_Author's Note/Disclaimer: I decided to take a crack (unofficially) at the Ultimate Fanfic Challenge on LiveJournal. 100 prompts, 100 fanfics. While my goal is to keep all stories in the same universe (canon, plus my interpretation of what came afterward), they are organized simply according to the order they appear on LiveJournal. Likewise, points of view, voice, and person may vary. I'll try to address these things at the beginning of each entry. Enjoy._

_Josh, Donna, and the rest of _The West Wing _crew belong to Sorkin, Wells, Warner Brothers, NBC, et al. I write for fun, and as such, do not profit._

**Prompt: Beginnings  
Setting: January 1999, January 2003, January 2007, and January 2011**

The first inauguration was fun and carefree, overwhelmed by the pomp and circumstance and unburdened by the cares of the world. They drank too much and slept too little, and somewhere in between he pulled her onto the dance floor. They twirled, unskilled and slightly intoxicated. And they laughed.

The second inauguration was characterized by unsuitable bibles, ethnic cleansing, and the dull _thud _of snowballs on her apartment window. In the early hours of the morning, as they researched and deliberated and gulped down what caffeine they could get their hands on, he desperately wanted to pull her aside and apologize for missing what she had tried to make so obvious. But the smile that lingered on her face throughout the night told him that, perhaps, it wasn't necessary. And they worked.

The third inauguration was not for them, but for Otto and Ronna and those who'd never experienced such a spectacle. They spent most of the evening trailing the newly minted president and first lady, offering advice and (occasionally) encouragement. But sometime around midnight, the first couple was chatting with old friends from Texas, and his hand found hers. Suddenly they were alone on the balcony, accompanied only by the distant strains of the orchestra. He pulled his jacket around her shoulder, and pulled her to him. And they kissed.

The fourth inauguration, they were sure, had been lovely. However, soon after dawn on January 20th, a newborn's cry echoed through the maternity ward of George Washington University Hospital, hopelessly scuttling any previous plans for the day. As CNN droned in the background, they marveled over the tiny being cradled between them, thoughts of speeches and oaths and parties a million miles away. Hours later, as fatigue set in, their eyelids began to droop with the setting sun. After ensuring the baby was tucked safely away in the nursery, he dropped a kiss on her forehead and stretched out in the rigid armchair next to her bed. And they slept.


	2. Middles

_Author's Note/Disclaimer: I decided to take a crack (unofficially) at the Ultimate Fanfic Challenge on LiveJournal. 100 prompts, 100 fanfics. While my goal is to keep all stories in the same universe (canon, plus my interpretation of what came afterward), they are organized simply according to the order they appear on LiveJournal. Likewise, points of view, voice, and person may vary. I'll try to address these things at the beginning of each entry. Enjoy._

_Josh, Donna, and the rest of _The West Wing_ crew belong to Sorkin, Wells, Warner Brothers, NBC, et al. I write for fun, and as such, do not profit._

**Prompt: Middles  
Setting: Immediately post-_2162 Votes _(Will's POV)**

Not a word passes between us as we sip our beers and gaze at the television screen. Watching too much or listening too hard ties my stomach in knots of frustration, so I distract myself by watching them.

Did he come here to gloat? Were the beers simply a means of roping us in, forcing us to watch him triumph on a national stage? Was he questioning his own sanity, putting his alcoholic, heart-attack-prone former boss on the ticket with his liberal Hispanic dark horse?

What was she feeling? Disappointment? Exhaustion? Relief? Dare I say…satisfaction? Unlike mine, her gaze doesn't waver from the screen for a moment. A funny little smile lingers on her face; whether it's bitter or genuine, I can't tell.

And maybe—surprise, surprise—I'm overanalyzing all of this.

It occurs to me that the silence that permeates the room might be completely unrelated to what's going on inside the convention center. Suddenly I'm aware of all the things that haven't been said between them, hanging over our heads. The room suddenly seems smaller. Too small for three.

I shift in my seat and begin to stand, trying to come up with some plausible excuse for my exit. There are plenty, I'm sure, but none seem to materialize in my brain.

At the sound of my chair creaking, they whip around to stare. To my surprise—as I know both are less than thrilled with me—the look on their faces is not one of personal dislike or anticipation of my imminent absence.

It's fear.

Donna is more obvious. Her body stiffens, and her tongue swipes her lips nervously. _Nonononono _is written plainly in her eyes. Josh is better at masking his emotions, but he's blinking far too much and his grip on his beer bottle has tightened considerably.

The scene might have been comedic if it wasn't so sad. I consider them for a moment before sinking back into my seat. Relaxing perceptibly, their gazes slowly drift back to the television. I can't begin to understand the complexity of their relationship, but for their sakes, I hope one day it won't be like this.

For the moment, however, I'm just stuck in the middle.


	3. Ends

_Author's Note/Disclaimer: I decided to take a crack (unofficially) at the Ultimate Fanfic Challenge on LiveJournal. 100 prompts, 100 fanfics. While my goal is to keep all stories in the same universe (canon, plus my interpretation of what came afterward), they are organized simply according to the order they appear on LiveJournal. Likewise, points of view, voice, and person may vary. I'll try to address these things at the beginning of each entry. Enjoy._

_Josh, Donna, and the rest of _The West Wing _crew belong to Sorkin, Wells, Warner Brothers, NBC, et al. I write for fun, and as such, do not profit._

**Prompt: Ends  
Setting: South Carolina "Bartlet for America" Headquarters, February 1998**

"More?" he glanced up wearily, squinting from harsh glare of the overhead fluorescents and stifling a yawn.

"Three boxes' worth." The cardboard carton landed in front of him with a _thud_. She settled down, cross-legged, on the floor opposite him.

He reached in for another stack of volunteer cards. His eyes burned as he continued sorting them into stacks. Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Calero were willing to make a monetary donation. Irene Robillard would post a yard sign. Dr. and Mrs. John Naughton would host a house party. The process was repetitive. And, after five hours, agonizing. At that point, it had to be nearing 1A.M.

It hadn't been a good day. The most recent tracking, both internal and national, showed Hoynes pulling ahead in key states. Governor Bartlet had sent the discouraged group back to the hotel early that evening. Josh, haunted by thoughts of crawling back to Hoynes with his tail between his legs, had stayed behind. Inexplicably, so had Donna.

After a few minutes, she grew tired of the incessant silence. "You know, I always found yard signs obnoxious."

The comment didn't break his stride, and he continued to sort without so much as a glance at her. "The general voting public disagrees. The more they sees his name, the better."

"Yeah, but is that really a philosophy you want to endorse? Don't you want people to vote for Bartlet because he's the best candidate, not because people heard his name a lot?"

That, at least, got him to look up, grinning wryly. "Donna, this is South Carolina. I'll take votes any way I can get 'em."

She smiled sweetly and picked up a new stack. "I'm sure the voters of South Carolina would be thrilled to hear your sentiments concerning their intelligence."

"It's not a statement on their intelligence; it's a statement on their conservatism."

"And you, rational, disinterested thinker that you are, would never_ think_ to equate the two." From a different person, in a different tone, the remark might have been biting or cold. But only amusement and challenge laced her voice.

"I could fire you for that."

"Fire me from my unpaid job? I don't mean that in an exaggerated way, mind you, I mean literally unpaid. Whatever will I do?"

The smile on his face lingered as he watched her sort the cards. There were dark smudges under her eyes and she wasn't moving as fast as she did hours earlier. She wasn't on the payroll, yet she was the only one here with him in the early hours of the morning. He wondered what brought her here. Not the boyfriend thing, he understood that, but what brought her _here_, specifically to Bartlet for America. She was young, probably no more than 25; there were any number of things she could be doing besides sitting in a strip mall in Columbia. He wanted to poke and prod, but it wasn't the time. Unfortunately, considering today's news, it was looking more and more probable that he'd never get the chance.

"You know, I don't think I've ever actually thanked you for sitting here doing grunt work for hours on end every day. I don't do the…lavishing praise thing very well."

"Josh, I've only known you for ten days, but I figured _that _out a while ago."

"You forgive me, then?"

"I'm still here, aren't I? You'll be good for a personal reference somewhere along the way, if nothing else." She grinned at him, and her smile lit up her face, wiping away any other signs of fatigue.

Despite his professional woes, he found himself most disturbed by the fact that in a few weeks, he'd be nothing more to her than a name on her résumé. "You know, Donna, when this is all over, remind me to treat you to dinner."

"'When this is all over,' meaning…?"

"Super Tuesday, probably."

And by dinner you mean…?"

"Chinese."

She considered it briefly, a thoughtful smile on her face. "With extra spring rolls?"

"Anything you like. That doesn't, you know, cost more than ten bucks."

"It's a date."


	4. Insides

_Author's Note/Disclaimer: I decided to take a crack (unofficially) at the Ultimate Fanfic Challenge on LiveJournal. 100 prompts, 100 fanfics. While my goal is to keep all stories in the same universe (canon, plus my interpretation of what came afterward), they are organized simply according to the order they appear on LiveJournal. Likewise, points of view, voice, and person may vary. I'll try to address these things at the beginning of each entry. Enjoy._

_Josh, Donna, and the rest of _The West Wing _crew belong to Sorkin, Wells, Warner Brothers, NBC, et al. I write for fun, and as such, do not profit._

**Prompt: Insides  
Setting: Missing Scene from **_**Inauguration: Over There**_

Toby sits in front. Mostly he watches the drifting snow and typical Inauguration Day traffic congestion, but spends a considerable amount of time glowering at their driver, suspicious of the cabby's ability to return them to the party unharmed. When he does happen to glance in the rearview mirror, he sees them piled atop one another, limbs tangled, having their own personal conversation despite the cramped quarters. He is thankful that they waited until after re-election.

Will sits between Toby and the driver. Flashing back to the concussion he received from a car crash at age nine, he tries desperately not to think about the fact that he's unrestrained in the front seat of a taxi in the aftermath of a D.C. snowstorm. Sitting next to Toby doesn't help matters, either. He distracts himself by trying to remember the prankster who told him that Josh and Donna were simply boss and assistant.

Danny has a window seat in the back. His editor won't care about this late-night foray, as long as he gets tomorrow's piece in under the wire. Nevertheless, he tucks the anecdote away for use in the tell-all he plans to write in the distant future. When the return trip is prolonged by weather and traffic, he tries to analyze whose relationship—his and C.J.'s, or Josh and Donna's—is more dysfunctional. He gives up.

Charlie is in perhaps the most uncomfortable position of all, smashed between Danny and Josh and Donna. He has no wish to eavesdrop on what is obviously a private conversation, but has a feeling that they speak their own language anyway. Nevertheless, all the intimacy in such close proximity makes him think of Zoey. He starts a conversation with Danny about whether the Wizards will improve in the second half.

The cab driver wonders why the guy and the girl are going to an Inaugural ball when there's a Mariott just down the street.


	5. Outsides

_Author's Note/Disclaimer: I decided to take a crack (unofficially) at the Ultimate Fanfic Challenge on LiveJournal. 100 prompts, 100 fanfics. While my goal is to keep all stories in the same universe (canon, plus my interpretation of what came afterward), they are organized simply according to the order they appear on LiveJournal. Likewise, points of view, voice, and person may vary. I'll try to address these things at the beginning of each entry. Enjoy._

_Josh, Donna, and the rest of _The West Wing _crew belong to Sorkin, Wells, Warner Brothers, NBC, et al. I write for fun, and as such, do not profit._

**Prompt: Outsides  
Setting: Post-_The Two Bartlets_**

I'm beginning to regret getting rid of basic cable. At this time of night, my choices consist of ten o'clock news, a Feed the Children infomercial, ten o'clock news, a PBS documentary on child slavery in Southeast Asia, the Home Shopping Network, and ten o'clock news. Discouraged, I flip it off and toss the remote on the coffee table.

I would read, but I haven't been to the library in weeks. That might change soon, considering my impending jury duty. Cliff's always tied up with work during the week. And Maureen's vacationing in Chesapeake Bay with her boyfriend. As if reminding me of this last fact, Grover leaps onto the arm of the sofa and wanders onto my lap. I don't have any particular love for cats, but I'm thankful for the company anyway. He purrs contentedly when I rub him behind the ears.

The silence forces my thoughts to wander where they don't belong. _Grow up, _I tell myself. _He's having sex. It's not exactly as if you're deprived in that department._

I already know that it's not the sex that's the problem, though. It's the fact that it's _Josh _having sex. The last person he slept with, I'm almost certain, was Mandy, and that was years ago. Literally, years.

So that's the problem, right? It's just unfamiliar.

Right.

I knew this day would come. It was inevitable that he'd become enamored of a gorgeous, smart, witty woman. You can't swing a dead cat on Capitol Hill without hitting one.

Whoever came up with that "swing a dead cat" thing, anyway? It's just mean. Grover snuggles into me. I think he agrees.

It's not that I believe I'll ever be the woman in his bed. Sometimes, I'm not even sure I _want _to be. What I don't want, though, is to be pushed aside. To be an outsider looking in on him.

I think it started weeks ago, with Cliff and the diary. He'd never say it, but he thinks less of me now. His words to me are clipped and impatient; he snaps more and banters less. Somewhere along the way, I've been reduced to the role of annoying baby sister.

It's unsurprising, really. I _was_ stupid. I can be irritating. I'm a college dropout. I've got long blonde hair and big blue eyes that make me look about ten years old at times. She, on the other hand, is attractive, intelligent, successful, and possesses the self-confidence to make anyone—man or woman—turn around and stare.

If he falls in love with her, and marries her, and never sees me in anything but a platonic, sisterly light, I'll have to live with that. But if we lose that strange, inexplicable intimacy—worse, if I lose it to _her_—I don't know what I'll do. Nothing scares me more than the possibility of waking up one day and realizing that we've slipped off the same wavelength.

I'm suddenly thirsty. I haul Grover off my lap (he emits a throaty, irritated _meow _in protest) and raid our rather extensive liquor cabinet. Of the two of us, Maureen is usually the big drinker, but tonight I make an exception. I toss in three types of rum, grenadine, and anything that sounds remotely tropical. To top it off, I find a little umbrella way in the back of the bottom shelf.

I close my eyes and sip my drink and see only the drawn curtains of his townhouse.


End file.
